By WALTER A. DYER
It was a mild evening in early spring, and the magnolias were in bloom. We motored around the park, turned up a side street, and finally came to a throbbing standstill before the Churchwarden Club.
There was nothing about its exterior to indicate that it was a clubhouse at all, but within there was an indefinable atmosphere of early Victorian comfort. There was something about it that suggested Mr. Pickwick. Old prints of horses and ships and battles hung upon the walls, and the oak was dark and old. There seemed to be no decorative scheme or keynote, and yet the atmosphere was utterly distinctive. It was my first visit to the Churchwarden Club, of which my quaint, old-fashioned Uncle Ford had long been a member, and I was charmed.
We dined in the rathskeller, the walls of which were completely covered with long churchwarden pipes, arranged in the most intricate and marvelous patterns; and after our mutton-chop and ale and plum pudding, we filled with the choicest of tobaccos the pipes which the old major-domo brought us.
Then came Jacob R. Enderby to smoke with us.
Tall and spare he was, with long, straight, black hair, large, aquiline nose, and piercing eyes. I disgraced myself by staring at him. I didn’t know that such a man existed in New York, and yet I couldn’t decide whether his habitat should be Arizona or Cape Cod.
Enderby and Uncle Ford were deep in a discussion of the statesmanship of James G. Blaine, when a waiter summoned my uncle to the telephone.
I neglected to state that my uncle, in his prosaic hours, 93is a physician; and this was a call. I knew it the moment I saw the waiter approaching. I was disappointed and disgusted.
Uncle Ford saw this and laughed.
“Cheer up!” said he. “You needn’t come with me to visit the sick. I’ll be back in an hour, and meanwhile Mr. Enderby will take care of you; won’t you, Jake?”
For answer Enderby arose, and refilling his pipe took me by the arm, while my uncle got into his overcoat. As he passed us on the way out he whispered in my ear:
“Talk about dogs.”
I heard and nodded.
Enderby led me to the lounge or loafing-room, an oak-paneled apartment in the rear of the floor above, with huge leather chairs and a seat in the bay window. Save for a gray-haired old chap dozing over a copy of Simplicissimus, the room was deserted.
But no sooner had Enderby seated himself on the window-seat than there was a rush and a commotion, and a short, glad bark, and Nubbins, the steward’s bull-terrier, bounded in and landed at Enderby’s side with canine expressions of great joy.
I reached forward to pat him, but he paid absolutely no attention to me.
At last his wriggling subsided, and he settled down with his head on Enderby’s knee, the picture of content. Then I recalled my uncle’s parting injunction.
“Friend of yours?” I suggested.
Enderby smiled. “Yes,” he said, “we’re friends, I guess. And the funny part of it is that he doesn’t pay any attention to any one else except his master. They all act that way with me, dogs do.” And he pulled Nubbins’s stubby ears.
“Natural attraction, I suppose,” said I.
“Yes, it is,” he answered, with the modest frankness of a big man. “It’s a thing hard to explain, though there’s a sort of reason for it in my case.”
I pushed toward him a little tobacco-laden teak-wood stand hopefully. He refilled and lighted.
94“It’s an extraordinary thing, even so,” he said, puffing. “Every dog nowadays seems to look upon me as his long-lost master, but it wasn’t always so. I hated dogs and they hated me.”
Not wishing to say “Really” or “Indeed” to this big, outdoor man, I simply grunted my surprise.
“Yes, we were born enemies. More than that, I was afraid of dogs. A little fuzzy toy dog, ambling up to me in a room full of company, with his tail wagging, gave me the shudders. I couldn’t touch the beast. And as for big dogs outdoors, I feared them like the plague. I would go blocks out of my way to avoid one.
“I don’t remember being particularly cowardly about other things, but I just couldn’t help this. It was in my blood, for some reason or other. It was the bane of my existence. I couldn’t see what the brutes were put into the world for, or how any one could have anything to do with them.
“And the dogs reciprocated. They disliked and distrusted me. The most docile old Brunos would growl and show their teeth when I came near.”
“Did the change come suddenly?” I asked.
“Quite. It was in 1901. I accepted a commission from an importing and trading company to go to the Philippines to do a little quiet exploring, and spent four months in the sickly place. Then I got the fever, and when I recovered I couldn’t get out of there too soon.
“I reached Manila just in time to see the mail steamer disappearing around the point, and I was mad. There would be another in six days, but I couldn’t wait. I was just crazy to get back home.
“I made inquiries and learned of an old tramp steamer, named the Old Squaw, making ready to leave for Honolulu on the following day with a cargo of hemp and stuff, and a bunch of Moros for some show in the States, and I booked passage on that.
“She was the worst old tub you ever saw. I didn’t learn much about her, but I verily believe her to have been a condemned 95excursion boat. She wouldn’t have been allowed to run to Coney Island.
“She was battered and unpainted, and she wallowed horribly. I don’t believe she could have reached Honolulu much before the next regular boat, but I couldn’t wait, and I took her.
“I made myself as comfortable as possible, bribed the cook to insure myself against starvation, and swung a hammock on the forward deck as far as possible from the worst of the vile smells.
“But we hadn’t lost sight of Manila Bay when I discovered that there was a dog aboard—and such a dog! I had never seen one that sent me into such a panic as this one, and he had free range of the ship. A Great Dane he was, named Gulliver, and he was the pride of the captain’s rum-soaked heart.
“With all my fear, I realized he was a magnificent animal, but I looked on him as a gigantic devil. Without exception, he was the biggest dog I ever saw, and as muscular as a lion. He lacked some points that show judges set store by, but he had the size and the build.
“I have seen Vohl’s Vulcan and the Wurtemburg breed, but they were fox-terriers compared with Gulliver. His tail was as big around as my arm, and the cook lived in terror of his getting into the galley and wagging it; and he had a mouth that looked to me like the crater of Mauna Loa, and a voice that shook the planking when he spoke.
“I first caught sight of him appearing from behind a huge coil of cordage in the stern. He stretched and yawned, and I nearly died of fright.
“I caught up a belaying-pin, though little good that would have done me. I think he saw me do it, and doubtless he set me down for an enemy then and there.
“We were well out of the harbor, and there was no turning back, but I would have given my right hand to be off that boat. I fully expected him to eat me up, and I slept with that belaying-pin sticking into my ribs in the hammock, and with my revolver loaded and handy.
96“Fortunately, Gulliver’s dislike for me took the form of sublime contempt. He knew I was afraid of him, and he despised me for it. He was a great pet with the captain and crew, and even the Moros treated him with admiring respect when they were allowed on deck. I couldn’t understand it. I would as soon have made a pet of a hungry boa-constrictor.
“On the third day out the poor old boiler burst and the Old Squaw caught fire. She was dry and rotten inside and she burned like tinder. No attempt was made to extinguish the flames, which got into the hemp in the hold in short order.
“The smoke was stifling, and in a jiffy all hands were struggling with the boats. The Moros came tumbling up from below and added to the confusion with their terrified yells.
“The davits were old and rusty, and the men were soon fighting among themselves. One boat dropped stern foremost, filled, and sank immediately, and the Old Squaw herself was visibly settling.
“I saw there was no chance of getting away in the boats, and I recalled a life-raft on the deck forward near my hammock. It was a sort of catamaran—a double platform on a pair of hollow, water-tight, cylindrical buoys. It wasn’t twenty feet long and about half as broad, but it would have to do. I fancy it was a forgotten relic of the old excursion-boat days.
“There was no time to lose, for the Old Squaw was bound to sink presently. Besides, I was aft with the rest, and the flames were licking up the deck and running-gear in the waist of the boat.
“The galley, which was amidships near the engine-room, had received the full force of the explosion, and the cook lay moaning in the lee scuppers with a small water-cask thumping against his chest. I couldn’t stop to help the man, but I did kick the cask away.
“It seemed to be nearly full, and it occurred to me that I should need it. I glanced quickly around, and luckily found a tin of biscuits that had also been blown out of the galley. I picked this up, and rolling the cask of water ahead 97of me as rapidly as I could, I made my way through the hot, stifling smoke to the bow of the boat.
“I kicked at the life-raft; it seemed to be sound, and I lashed the biscuits and water to it. I also threw on a coil of rope and a piece of sail-cloth. I saw nothing else about that could possibly be of any value to me. I abandoned my trunk for fear it would only prove troublesome.
“Then I hacked the raft loose with my knife and shoved it over to the bulwark. Apparently no one had seen me, for there was no one else forward of the sheet of flame that now cut the boat in two.
“The raft was a mighty heavy affair, but I managed to raise one end to the rail. I don’t believe I would ever have been able to heave it over under any circumstances, but I didn’t have to.
“I felt a great upheaval, and the prow of the Old Squaw went up into the air. I grabbed the ropes that I had lashed the food on with and clung to the raft. The deck became almost perpendicular, and it was a miracle that the raft didn’t slide down with me into the flames. Somehow it stuck where it was.
“Then the boat sank with a great roar, and for about a thousand years, it seemed to me, I was under water. I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t think.
“I was only conscious of a tremendous weight of water and a feeling that I would burst open. Instinct alone made me cling to the raft.
“When it finally brought me to the surface I was as nearly dead as I care to be. I lay there on the thing in a half-conscious condition for an endless time. If my life had depended on my doing something, I would have been lost.
“Then gradually I came to, and began to spit out salt water and gasp for breath. I gathered my wits together and sat up. My hands were absolutely numb, and I had to loosen the grip of my fingers with the help of my toes. Odd sensation.
“Then I looked about me. My biscuits and water and rope were safe, but the sail-cloth had vanished. I remember 98that this annoyed me hugely at the time, though I don’t know what earthly good it would have been.
“The sea was fairly calm, and I could see all about. Not a human being was visible, only a few floating bits of wreckage. Every man on board must have gone down with the ship and drowned, except myself.
“Then I caught sight of something that made my heart stand still. The huge head of Gulliver was coming rapidly toward me through the water!
“The dog was swimming strongly, and must have leaped from the Old Squaw before she sank. My raft was the only thing afloat large enough to hold him, and he knew it.
“I drew my revolver, but it was soaking wet and useless. Then I sat down on the cracker-tin and gritted my teeth and waited. I had been alarmed, I must admit, when the boiler blew up and the panic began, but that was nothing to the terror that seized me now.
“Here I was all alone on the top of the Pacific Ocean with a horrible demon making for me as fast as he could swim. My mind was benumbed, and I could think of nothing to do. I trembled and my teeth rattled. I prayed for a shark, but no shark came.
“Soon Gulliver reached the raft and placed one of his forepaws on it and then the other. The top of it stood six or eight inches above the water, and it took a great effort for the dog to raise himself. I wanted to kick him back, but I didn’t dare to move.
“Gulliver struggled mightily. Again and again he reared his great shoulders above the sea, only to be cast back, scratching and kicking, at a lurch of the raft.
“Finally a wave favored him, and he caught the edge of the under platform with one of his hind feet. With a stupendous effort he heaved his huge bulk over the edge and lay sprawling at my feet, panting and trembling.”
Enderby paused and gazed out of the window with a big sigh, as though the recital of his story had brought back some of the horror of his remarkable experience.
99Nubbins looked up inquiringly, and then snuggled closer to his friend, while Enderby smoothed the white head.
“Well,” he continued, “there we were. You can’t possibly imagine how I felt unless you, too, have been afflicted with dog-fear. It was awful. And I hated the brute so. I could have torn him limb from limb if I had had the strength. But he was vastly more powerful than I. I could only fear him.
“By and by he got up and shook himself. I cowered on my cracker-tin, but he only looked at me contemptuously, went to the other end of the raft, and lay down to wait patiently for deliverance.
“We remained this way until nightfall. The sea was comparatively calm, and we seemed to be drifting but slowly. We were in the path of ships likely to be passing one way or the other, and I would have been hopeful of the outcome if it had not been for my feared and hated companion.
“I began to feel faint, and opened the cracker-tin. The biscuits were wet with salt water, but I ate a couple, and left the cover of the tin open to dry them. Gulliver looked around, and I shut the tin hastily. But the dog never moved. He was not disposed to ask any favors. By kicking the sides of the cask and prying with my knife, I managed to get the bung out and took a drink. Then I settled myself on the raft with my back against the cask, and longed for a smoke.
“The gentle motion of the raft produced a lulling effect on my exhausted nerves, and I began to nod, only to awake with a start, with fear gripping at my heart. I dared not sleep. I don’t know what I thought Gulliver would do to me, for I did not understand dogs, but I felt that I must watch him constantly. In the starlight I could see that his eyes were open. Gulliver was watchful too.
“All night long I kept up a running fight with drowsiness. I dozed at intervals, but never for long at a time. It was a horrible night, and I cannot tell you how I longed for day and welcomed it when it came.
“I must have slept toward dawn, for I suddenly became conscious of broad daylight. I roused myself, stood up, and 100swung my arms and legs to stir up circulation, for the night had been chilly. Gulliver arose, too, and stood silently watching me until I ceased for fear. When he had settled down again I got my breakfast out of the cracker-tin. Gulliver was restless, and was evidently interested.
“‘He must be hungry,’ I thought, and then a new fear caught me. I had only to wait until he became very hungry and then he would surely attack me. I concluded that it would be wiser to feed him, and I tossed him a biscuit.
“I expected to see him grab it ravenously, and wondered as soon as I had thrown it if the taste of food would only serve to make him more ferocious. But at first he would not touch it. He only lay there with his great head on his paws and glowered at me. Distrust was plainly visible in his face. I had never realized before that a dog’s face could express the subtler emotions.
“His gaze fascinated me, and I could not take my eyes from his. The bulk of him was tremendous as he lay there, and I noticed the big, swelling muscles of his jaw. At last he arose, sniffed suspiciously at the biscuit, and looked up at me again.
“‘It’s all right; eat it!’ I cried.
“The sound of my own voice frightened me. I had not intended to speak to him. But in spite of my strained tone he seemed somewhat reassured.
“He took a little nibble, and then swallowed the biscuit after one or two crunches, and looked up expectantly. I threw him another and he ate that.
“‘That’s all,’ said I. ‘We must be sparing of them.’
“I was amazed to discover how perfectly he understood. He lay down again and licked his chops.
“Late in the forenoon I saw a line of smoke on the horizon, and soon a steamer hove into view. I stood up and waved my coat frantically, but to no purpose. Gulliver stood up and looked from me to the steamer, apparently much interested.
“‘Too far off,’ I said to Gulliver. ‘I hope the next one will come nearer.’
“At midday I dined, and fed Gulliver. This time he took 101the two biscuits quite without reserve and whacked his great tail against the raft. It seemed to me that his attitude was less hostile, and I wondered at it.
“When I took my drink from the cask, Gulliver showed signs of interest.
“‘I suppose dogs get thirsty, too,’ I said aloud.
“Gulliver rapped with his tail. I looked about for some sort of receptacle, and finally pulled off my shoe, filled it with water, and shoved it toward him with my foot. He drank gratefully.
“During the afternoon I sighted another ship, but it was too distant to notice me. However, the sea remained calm and I did not despair.
“After we had had supper, I settled back against my cask, resolved to keep awake, for still I did not trust Gulliver. The sun set suddenly and the stars came out, and I found myself strangely lonesome. It seemed as though I had been alone out there on the Pacific for weeks. The miles and miles of heaving waters, almost on a level with my eye, were beginning to get on my nerves. I longed for some one to talk to, and wished I had dragged the half-breed cook along with me for company. I sighed loudly, and Gulliver raised his head.
“‘Lonesome out here, isn’t it?’ I said, simply to hear the sound of my own voice.
“Then for the first time Gulliver spoke. He made a deep sound in his throat, but it wasn’t a growl, and with all my ignorance of dog language I knew it.
“Then I began to talk. I talked about everything—the people back home and all that—and Gulliver listened. I know more about dogs now, and I know that the best way to make friends with a dog is to talk to him. He can’t talk back, but he can understand a heap more than you think he can.
“Finally Gulliver, who had kept his distance all this time, arose and came toward me. My words died in my throat. What was he going to do? To my immense relief he did nothing but sink down at my feet with a grunt and curl his huge body into a semicircle. He had dignity, Gulliver had. He wanted to be friendly, but he would not presume. However, 102I had lost interest in conversation, and sat watching him and wondering.
“In spite of my firm resolution, I fell asleep at length from sheer exhaustion, and never woke until daybreak. The sky was clouded and our craft was pitching. Gulliver was standing in the middle of the raft, looking at me in evident alarm. I glanced over my shoulder, and the blackness of the horizon told me that a storm was coming, and coming soon.
“I made fast our slender provender, tied the end of a line about my own waist for safety, and waited.
“In a short time the storm struck us in all its tropical fury. The raft pitched and tossed, now high up at one end, and now at the other, and sometimes almost engulfed in the waves.
“Gulliver was having a desperate time to keep aboard. His blunt claws slipped on the wet deck of the raft, and he fell and slid about dangerously. The thought flashed across my mind that the storm might prove to be a blessing in disguise, and that I might soon be rid of the brute.
“As I clung there to the lashings, I saw him slip down to the further end of the raft, his hind quarters actually over the edge. A wave swept over him, but still he clung, panting madly. Then the raft righted itself for a moment, and as he hung there he gave me a look I shall never forget—a look of fear, of pleading, of reproach, and yet of silent courage. And with all my stupidity I read that look. Somehow it told me that I was the master, after all, and he the dog. I could not resist it. Cautiously I raised myself and loosened the spare rope I had saved. As the raft tipped the other way Gulliver regained his footing and came sliding toward me.
“Quickly I passed the rope around his body, and as the raft dived again I hung on to the rope with one hand, retaining my own hold with the other. Gulliver’s great weight nearly pulled my arm from its socket, but he helped mightily, and during the next moment of equilibrium I took another turn about his body and made the end of the rope fast.
“The storm passed as swiftly as it had come, and though it left us drenched and exhausted, we were both safe.
Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful
103“That evening Gulliver crept close to me as I talked, and I let him. Loneliness will make a man do strange things.
“On the fifth day, when our provisions were nearly gone, and I had begun to feel the sinking dullness of despair, I sighted a steamer apparently coming directly toward us. Instantly I felt new life in my limbs and around my heart, and while the boat was yet miles away I began to shout and to wave my coat.
“‘I believe she’s coming, old man!’ I cried to Gulliver; ‘I believe she’s coming!’
“I soon wearied of this foolishness and sat down to wait. Gulliver came close and sat beside me, and for the first time I put my hand on him. He looked up at me and rapped furiously with his tail. I patted his head—a little gingerly, I must confess.
“It was a big, smooth head, and it felt solid and strong. I passed my hand down his neck, his back, his flanks. He seemed to quiver with joy. He leaned his huge body against me. Then he bowed his head and licked my shoe.
“A feeling of intense shame and unworthiness came over me, with the realization of how completely I had misunderstood him. Why should this great, powerful creature lick my shoe? It was incredible.
“Then, somehow, everything changed. Fear and distrust left me, and a feeling of comradeship and understanding took their place. We two had been through so much together. A dog was no longer a frightful beast to me; he was a dog! I cannot think of a nobler word. And Gulliver had licked my shoe! Doubtless it was only the fineness of his perception that had prevented him from licking my hand. I might have resented that. I put my arms suddenly around Gulliver’s neck and hugged him. I loved that dog!
“Slowly, slowly, the steamer crawled along, but still she kept to her course. When she was about a mile away, however, I saw that she would not pass as near to us as I had hoped; so I began once more my waving and yelling. She came nearer, nearer, but still showed no sign of observing us.
“She was abreast of us and passing. I was in a frenzy!
104“She was so near that I could make out the figure of the captain on the bridge, and other figures on the deck below. It seemed as though they must see us, though I realized how low in the water we stood, and how pitifully weak and hoarse my voice was. I had been a fool to waste it. Then an idea struck me.
“‘Speak!’ I cried to Gulliver, who stood watching beside me. ‘Speak, old man!’
“Gulliver needed no second bidding. A roar like that of all the bulls of Bashan rolled out over the blue Pacific. Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful. His great sides heaved with the mighty effort, his red, cavernous mouth open, and his head raised high.
“‘Good, old man!’ I cried. ‘Good!’ And again that magnificent voice boomed forth.
“Then something happened on board the steamer. The figures came to the side. I waved my coat and danced. Then they saw us.
“I was pretty well done up when they took us aboard, and I slept for twenty-four hours straight. When I awoke there sat Gulliver by my bunk, and when I turned to look at him he lifted a great paw and put it on my arm.”
Enderby ceased, and there was silence in the room save for the light snoring of Nubbins.
“You took him home with you, I suppose?” I asked.
Enderby nodded.
“And you have him still?” I certainly wanted to have a look at that dog.
But he did not answer. I saw an expression of great sadness come into his eyes as he gazed out of the window, and I knew that Jacob Enderby had finished his story.